


Of Poets and Criminals

by SpiderManJehan



Category: Les Miserables
Genre: Honestly I don't even know how to tag this, M/M, Pining, Romance, Some Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 20:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7284283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderManJehan/pseuds/SpiderManJehan





	1. Chapter 1

Early morning sunlight streamed in through a window, disrupting Jehan’s sleep. Normally, the young man enjoyed mornings and would throw open the windows the moment the sun crept into the sky. But not today. Today his head was raging.

It was his own damn fault, he knew as he squeezed his eyes shut to keep out the sun’s rays. He should have known better than to sit down for a drink with Grantaire. For such a cynical bastard, the man was well read and well versed both in poetry and philosophy. Their debate had been long and the wine had flowed endlessly. Jehan hadn’t even realised he was drunk until he stood up to go home. Embarrassed to admit that he couldn’t keep up with Grantaire, he had insisted that he was not in fact drunk but merely slightly gay and in excellent spirits; he could see himself home, he had assured Combeferre who had offered to walk with him and given him a dubious look. Somehow, though, he’d made it home… Right?

Frowning, he finally opened his eyes. This wasn’t home. This was a one room flat with grubby walls and one dirty window with the sound of arguing neighbours coming through thin walls. Where the hell was he?

He started as something warm shifted beside him and he realised that he had a bedmate. Sitting up quickly, he turned to look at this intimate stranger and his heart nearly stopped. Lying beside him was a young man, around his own age surely but in sleep he looked no more than a boy. Black curls lay scattered across his alabaster brow and beautiful, cherry red lips parted every so slightly in the serenity of sleep. So enraptured was Jehan by that fascinating mouth that, before he was truly conscious of his actions, he had reached out a hand to touch those lips.

The sleeping boy’s eyes shot open in a flash of piercing blue, the peacefulness of his features transforming into something dangerous. He grabbed Jehan’s wrist and flung him from the bed as if the slight boy weighted a mere nothing. 

Jehan landed painfully on his back and the other was on top of him within seconds, a hand firm at his throat to keep him down and a knife, drawn from God knows where, cold against his jaw. Now that the young man was awake, Jehan knew exactly who he was. This was Montparnasse, one of Paris’ most notorious criminals.

Montparnasse seemed to recognise Jehan as well and his face softened, going from terrible to charming with one small smile. “Oh, it’s only you. I forgot.”

The knife lowered, though the hand stayed on Jehan’s throat. 

“Where am I?” Jehan asked. It seemed the only sensible thing to ask. Not “please don’t kill me,” or “why was I in your bed?” 

“My home,” the dark haired criminal said, finally letting go of Jehan and offering him a hand. “I’m…”

“Montparnasse, I know.” He stood up a little shakily and looked his host over. Montparnasse was several inches taller than him, but built like a willow with slender hips and long, graceful arms. As terrifying as he was in action, his smile was warm and gave Jehan an odd, but not unpleasant feeling in his stomach. “My name’s…”

“Prouvaire,” the other said with a nod. “I saw it stitched into your hat. Which is a horror, you should know. A wealthy boy like yourself should treat himself better.”

Jehan’s cheeks flushed scarlet with indignation. “I’m not… Well, I like what I have. What am I doing here?”

Montparnasse smirked and sat back down on the bed. “Really, you should be thanking me. Wandering alleys while completely pissed like that?” He clicked his tongue. “If I hadn’t come along to rescue you, you’d have been eaten alive.”

Jehan frowned. He had no memory of anything after leaving the Musain. He rubbed his neck, still a little sore from the strangle hold Montparnasse had put on him. “Why didn’t you just mug me? I didn’t… Did I fight you off?”

The other laughed. “Well, I tried! And no, you most certainly didn’t fight me. You started giving me your money. And your coat. And that damn hat! You said you didn’t need it. You offered to buy me bread and told me that you could live off the words of Dante.”

That sounded about right, embarrassingly so. “And you didn’t keep it?”

Montparnasse waved his hand lazily. “Oh I took your money, yes. No chance you’ll be getting that back, so don’t bother asking. But I have no use for the other rubbish.”

Jehan ignored the insult to his clothing again. “Why’d you bring me here then?”

“I have a soft spot for lost puppies.” 

He rose from the bed and pulled off his nightshirt in one swift moment. Jehan’s heart stopped beating for a moment before he realised that Montparnasse was just removing his bedclothes in order to get dressed, replacing the nightshirt with a crisp white shirt and a black silk waistcoat. Jehan looked down and saw that he was still wearing his clothes from last night. They still smelled of alcohol.

“I… I had best be getting home then,” he finally said.

Montparnasse gave a noncommittal little hum and handed him his hat and an empty wallet. “Better take this. I do have a reputation to uphold and honestly, this just soils it.” He grinned. “Buy better clothes when you have money again, Prouvaire."

“It’s Jehan,” the other said, taking his things and looking down a little awkwardly. “My friends call me Jehan and, well, since you did rescue me…”

“Jehan,” Montparnasse repeated softly. “Well, I hope to see you around again, Jehan. Perhaps someday you can read me these words of Dante that sustain you. I should like to know more about you.”

Jehan’s face turned pink again. Flustered, he pulled on his coat. “And now I see why everyone finds you charming. I’m sure you’ve used that line on countless ladies.”

A mischievous twinkle gleamed in Montparnasse’s blue eyes as he opened the door for his guest, leaning on the door frame. “Not the ladies, no.”


	2. Chapter 2

It had been more than a week since Jehan has woken up in the bed of a known criminal, yet in all that time, he hadn't seen a glimpse of Montparnasse. It was not for lack of trying either; the boy looked around every corner, in every shop, even purposefully walking down dangerous streets to try to catch a glimpse of the dark haired man.

Distracted at meetings, Enjolras had started to give up on him while Grantaire teased him relentlessly. 

"What's this? So pale?"

"I am always so, my friend. We cannot all be dark and swarthy as you."

"No, but I would swear that you are in love."

"Of course! Are you not? In love with life and the people."

Grantaire scoffed, though Jehan caught his gaze flit towards their golden leader for a mere moment before returning to the matter at hand. "If that is the case, then you are always in love, little Jehan. Not that we will hold it against you. An artist is seldom wise and often enamoured and you are a poet. It is to be expected. But there's something different in you lately."

Jehan shrugged it off, but he knew Grantaire was right. Something had changed in him that morning in Montparnasse's apartment. He just was not entirely sure what.

The thief had been having a hard time of it as well. He was fascinated by the odd, red headed man and found himself watching constantly from a distance. This, however, soon grew to be a cause of frustration as Montparnasse could not fathom why this rosy cheeked, slight boy of a man would pass through notorious alley ways, deliberately putting himself in danger. Was he stupid? Suicidal? Did he have any idea what he was doing? And now he was following the badly dressed character around in order to make sure nobody else mugged him!

It was thus that he was discovered by Eponine as he stood outside Jehan's apartments one evening.

"Parnasse," she called in a sing song voice. "What're you doing?"

He started, embarrassed that he'd been caught and by someone he regarded as a sister too. "Nothing," he answered casually and started walking away.

"Doesn't look like nothing." Eponine looked up to the Jehan's window where a candle was glowing and the boy could be seen pacing, book in hand and long red hair loose about his face, as he recited something. She laughed s husky little laugh. "I know what this is! You're besotted!"

Montparnasse felt his cheeks go red and he glared at the waif like girl. "I am not!" he protested, realising just how childish he sounded too late.

Eponine laughed again. "You are so! You're dreadfully bad at hiding it. Go and talk to him instead of mooning from a distance."

An embarrassed pit formed in Montparnasse's stomach. It was difficult enough to admit to himself that he was attracted to this boy he barely knew. Trading was all well and good, but actually saying it out loud? Therein lay the difficulty. "I can't," he finally said softly. 

Eponine's smile softened and she reached up to give him an understanding pat on the back. "You know, he's friends with my neighbour, Marius. I am sure that if I asked, he could find a way to formally introduce you."

Montparnasse scoffed. "That booby? Please, as if I would need help from him. Honestly, I don't know what you see in him, Ponine, and it's a wonder your father hasn't robbed him blind."

The little woman's brow scrunched up in anger and she delivered a swift kick to Montparnasse's shin. "We're all allowed to have favourites, you twat. They all know that Marius is mine and wouldn't dare touch him. And if you like this one, you had better stake a claim on him before Babet uses him as a chew toy. Everyone's seen you watching him and they think you're planning something big."

Montparnasse gnashed his teeth and glared at Eponine. "If any of them dare, they'll find it significantly difficult to go down to the docks for pleasure, I assure you."

"Better act fast then before you have to castrate your entire gang." She started back down the alley way and into the night. "Just remember that I was nice enough to warn you," she called over her shoulder before she vanished.

Parnasse knew she was right. It was just frustrating. What was he supposed to do? Waltz up to Jehan's door and say, "I don't know if you remember me, but I rescued you when you were drunk off your ass and I was wondering if you would give me the opportunity to get you drunk again, by the way are you interested in men?"

He looked up at Jehan's window and saw that it had gone dark. The opportunity to speak to him tonight had passed. Screwing up his courage, he decided that he has best start slow. A nearby trellis sported several beautiful red roses and he filched three easily. Perhaps it wasn't the most obvious gesture, but he saw it as a fairly romantic one. He put the roses on the step outside Jehan's door before quickly fleeing the scene as if it had been the worst crime he could have committed.

****

The next morning dawned and Jehan rose with a new determination. He had been reading that most infamous of poets, Shakespeare, and decided that he had but one course of action before him: he must write a sonnet and then find that boy. How hard could it be to search out such a flamboyantly dressed criminal? Maybe he'd been arrested and that's why he hadn't seen him about. He would check with the police first. 

So distracted by his schemes was he that he almost stepped on the roses that sat at his front door. The red blooms caught his eye, however, before they were crushed and he quickly bent down to scoop them up, his cheeks turning almost as bright as their petals. He stared at them as if they were precious gems. 

"Be reasonable," he thought to himself. "There is no way this was Montparnasse's doing. They must have blown here from the garden."

But the stems had been cut just so and there were three of flowers. Had it been one, then perhaps the wind could have blown them over. But three? 

Unable to shake the feeling that Montparnasse had done this, no matter how illogical it might be, Jehan stuck one of the flowers in the button hole of his jacket and moved on with his business. Unseen to him, a dark haired watcher grinned and blushed like a schoolboy to see his gift so accepted.

****

"Who will stand for them if we don't?" cried Enjolras in a passion to the nods and murmurs of his friends. "We must rally for them! For the people! Even the smallest among us is deserving of our protection!"

"Here here!" interrupted Courfeyrac, rising from his seat. "For the people! And as example, let us consider the smallest among us indeed, our own Jean Prouvaire."

Jehan started at his own name, drawn from his distracted doodling on a scrap of paper. Another week had gone by and each morning he awoke to find roses on his step, each evening he in turn left a little piece of poetry for the mysterious gift giver. The others had noticed the rose petals constantly pressed in his books and how he always wore one in his buttonhole now, but until this time had said nothing. He swallowed hard and looked nervously at Courfeyrac, expecting to be teased.

"Yes, you are the smallest and it's our duty, as Enjolras says, to protect you," the other continued. "So we must know... Who is this dark stranger that we've seen following you? Or has it escaped your notice?"

Grantaire lazily poured himself another glass of wine and laughed. "Were your poems any more infamous, I would say that it would be an assassin. But seeing as you are yet unpublished, it will only be a cold blooded murder. They may not even print it in the paper."

Jehan blushed and instinctively touched the rose at his breast. 

"Ah-ha!" Courfeyrac laughed. "So you are aware! Is it an admirer then? Might this stranger be responsible for the flowers?"

"I don't know," murmured Jehan. Honestly, he didn't know. He'd only hoped.

"Oh good God," groaned Grantaire. "He's in love. Another for the noose, I saw. See how he blushes! He'll be worse than Marius."

Marius and Jehan both blushed in symphony and gave each other sympathetic looks.

"Enough of this," Enjolras said, trying to regain control of his renegade revolutionaries. "Do you all think this a game? If you wish to gossip, like a bunch of old women, I suggest you go elsewhere!"

A surge of relief swept through Jehan as Enjolras brought the meeting back to order and plans for rallies were made. His friends meant well, but he was not ready to be teased about this mystery man. Not until he had unraveled the mystery himself. 

"Jehan," Enjolras approached him as the meeting came to a close and people began to leave. "You are keeping safe though, aren't you? What Courfeyrac said earlier..."

"Yes," he said with a tired nod. "It's nothing. I do know the man, I think. I promise that I am completely safe." 

"Good." After an awkward beat, Enjolras put a hand on his shoulder. "We wouldn't want to lose you." 

Jehan smiled. "You won't."

He took the safe roads home that night. Surely the dark stranger the others had noticed must be Montparnasse, but in the event that it wasn't, he would walk in the well lit areas. He frowned at the cobblestone as he went. This game of cat and mouse had gone on far enough. Tonight, the mouse would catch the cat.

Once in his apartments, he determined to sit and wait for Montparnasse to show up. He lit no candle, keeping the room dark as if that would help him hear better, and waited next to the door. His hearing was excellent, but Montparnasse was a thief and could glide about on ghost's whispers. He would have to be exceptionally alert if he was going to catch the thief who left gifts instead of taking them.

Hours crept by before he heard the faintest step outside. Quick as a flash, he threw open the door.

There, sure enough, was Montparnasse, tall and dressed in well made clothes that Jehan knew he couldn't afford. His face wore a pale, shocked expression as if he had never been caught in his life and in his hands were several red roses.

"So it is you," Jehan said, trying to sound confident and crossing his arms over his chest.

It took a moment for Montparnasse to regain his composure, but when he did, he broke into a laugh. "Of course it was. Did you expect anyone else? Just how many 'ebony admirers' do you have, Prouvaire?"

Jehan recognised that as a line from one of the poems he had written and smiled. "Well it could have been anyone, seeing as you never actually made yourself known. How long are we going to play this little game?"

Montparnasse looked down at the ground a little sheepishly. "I... Well, I thought the roses were romantic."

"They're frustrating and you know it."

Montparnasse shot Jehan a disgruntled look. "You're a poet! You're supposed to like romance!"

"I did!" Jehan protested. "I mean, I do. But wordless flirtation can only go on so long."

A short laugh was the other's reply as he drew a worn scrap of paper from his over coat pocket. "This is wordless to you? 'Was my soul not thine before, thou quintessence of perfection?'"

Jehan's cheeks turned pink. "I mean, spoken words."

Unexpectedly, Montparnasse lifted a hand and brushed his thumb over Jehan's reddening cheeks. "You blush at a mere nothing."

"This doesn't feel like nothing to me," Jehan whispered.

They stood there silently for a moment, both barely breathing as the space between them seemed to grow smaller and smaller.

"Would... would you like to come inside?" Jehan finally asked.

"Yes please," Montparnasse answered, feeling a little lightheaded at the thought.

They entered the dark apartment and Jehan felt butterflies in his stomach as he closed the door behind them. Parnasse's hand found his and just held it for a moment. 

Neither of them moved, as if both were afraid of where the next step might bring them. At last, Montparnasse drew himself close to Jehan, cradling his face between his hands before placing a soft kiss on his lips.

It was a long, slow kiss; reverent as a prayer. Jehan lost track of time, caught in this embrace, all poetic words flown from his mind as he revelled in the softness of Montparnasse's lips on his.

"Finally," he whispered with a smile as Parnasse pulled away. "I think I've wanted you to do that since I woke up next to you."

Parnasse grinned. "I'll be honest... I wanted to since the night before that."

"Took you long enough," Jehan murmured as he stood on his toes to kiss him again.

The kiss was more passionate this time, deeper and more fulfilling. Neither of them were quite sure how it happened, but soon they were in Jehan's bed, still fully clothed and wrapped in each other's arms. Time stood so completely still that it shocked them when the sun started to creep through the window. 

"I should go," Parnasse finally said. "There are... things I need to attend to."

"Will you come back tonight?" Jehan asked, unable to hide the disappointment from his voice as Parnasse stood to leave.

The other grinned and planted yet another kiss on Jehan's forehead. "Yes. And this time I'm not waiting for you to open the door, I'm letting myself in."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they finally bang...

If Jehan had been distracted before, he was doubly so now. What did Montparnasse mean by "I'm not waiting for you to open the door?" Was it a double entendre? Or was he literally talking about the door?

A knock startled him half way through his dressing and he rushed to the door, half expecting to see the finely dressed boy who'd left a mere hour before. To his disappointment, it was only Grantaire.

"What are you doing here?" 

"Well hello to you too," Grantaire grumbled, entering unceremoniously. "I need a drink before the rally."

Jehan frowned. "The rally?"

"You forgot? Don't let Apollo know."

He had forgotten and stood in confusion as his companion reached for the decanter of brandy on the hall table. 

"I... I thought that was tomorrow," he muttered lamely.

Grantaire gave him a small look of annoyance. "Good god, man, where is your head? You look like you haven't slept all night. Have you not uncovered all the glories of Virgil by now?"

Jehan blushed. "No, no! I am merely..."

"In love," the other said with a grunt. "I can tell."

"I'm not the only obvious one, my friend," retorted Jehan. 

Grantaire smiled and downed the borrowed alcohol. "Which is why I drink. There are many similarities between a man in love and a drunkard. Better they find me the latter. Now get your coat. I'm not showing up alone."

What a conundrum it was... On the one hand, knowing that it was in fact Montparnasse who had been leaving the flowers was a relief and confirmation of his own feelings. On the other, it was easier to leave poems and sweet words on a step to be consumed by the night. The night cannot see a blush and is kinder to trembling voices and hands. There is security behind a mask. 

The day passed by in a blur. The rally turned into a protest which turned into a police raid and even as Jehan cried "Vive la France! Long live the future!" with his compatriots, his mind kept wandering back to the dark haired visitor he expected later that evening. 

Weary from the day's activities and penniless from helping the others release Enjolras from arrest (again), Jehan returned home, wondering when (and if) Montparnasse would make his appearance.

He needn't have wondered long, however, for as soon as he opened the door, he saw the object of his affections. Montparnasse was sitting in the chair close to his writing table, regal as a king with one leg crossed over the other and a lazy smile upon his cherry red lips. 

Jehan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "How did you get in here? I thought I had locked the door."

"You did." Montparnasse grinned and waved what looked like a small set of brass keys, instantly recognisable as a set of lock picks. "I thought I'd surprise you."

Jehan smiled shyly, relieved beyond belief that Montparnasse had actually come. "So that's what you meant by not waiting for me to open the door." 

Montparnasse rose from his seat, his movements graceful and lithe as a cat's. "Doors don't stop me. Not from getting to you." He stepped towards Jehan; for a moment his suave, cool manner disappeared and he looked just as shy as the other. "Are you happy to see me then?"

In reply, Jehan reached up to brush a piece of black hair that had fallen into Parnasse's face before standing on his toes to kiss him deeply. He could feel Montparnasse smile through the kiss and his body reacting to his touch. Heat grew inside Jehan's belly and he knew this man was all he wanted. 

Their lips parted and Montparnasse's mouth was soon at Jehan's throat, sucking and biting so that bruises blossoming along the fair skin. Clothes fell to the ground like leaves in Autumn and the two soon stood before each other, naked as the day they were born. 

A small fragment of Jehan's mind reminded him to later try to paint the Adonis that stood before him, but his thoughts became otherwise occupied as he found himself pushed down upon the bed with Montparnasse pressed against him. 

"Hold still," Parnasse whispered, voice low and almost purring, as he took a silk handkerchief and bound Jehan's hands to the bedpost. 

Jehan gasped as his lover's lips and teeth grazed down his stomach to between his legs. "Oh God please," he moaned as he felt Montparnasse suddenly inside him. He did not know whether he prayed to God or Parnasse, or if he had found new religion in the blue eyes of this dark angel. Is there any religion more holy than that of love?

The hours passed, a tangle of bliss and pleasure, until both men had been completely satisfied and lay panting against each other. 

"Well Jean Prouvaire..." Parnasse brushed his hair out of his face. He couldn't actually think of anything to say. He just liked the way the name rolled off his tongue. 

Jehan propped himself on his elbow and looked at Parnasse with a shy smile. "That was fun. Can we make this a habit?"

Parnasse gave him a grin. "Are you asking me to be your lover?"

A blush crept over Jehan's cheeks. "I suppose I am."

"Good." Parnasse kissed the tip of Jehan's freckled nose. "For I will be."


	4. Chapter 4

The night had been one of bliss, endless love making culminating in falling asleep in each other's arms. Neither man could remember a time when they felt happier or more at peace.

Jehan awoke to the sound of quiet moment around his room. Opening his eyes slightly, he realised that the spot next to him in the bed was empty. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillows.

"Are you trying to rob me?" he mumbled. 

He heard Montparnasse laugh softly. "No, petit oiseau. I was actually trying to leave something..."

Jehan sat up, pushing his messy hair out of his eyes. Montparnasse was still shirtless and standing by Jehan's bookshelf, looking half guilty for being caught and half amused by the fact he actually had been caught for once.

"What is it?" Jehan asked.

Sheepishly, Montparnasse revealed a small, tattered looking book. "It is NOT what I would normally present as a gift, but it seemed like something you'd like."

He sat down on the bed beside Jehan and placed the book in his lap. Jehan opened the cover, revealing that it was a sketch book of sorts, detailing on every page the anatomy of various flowers, some of them delicately painted in careful pastels.

"This is beautiful," whispered Jehan in rapture. He noticed a pair of initials at the bottom of one of the pages: E.J.B. "Where did you get this?"

Montparnasse chuckled and leaned back on the pillows. "You don't want to know that, love."

Jehan gave him a small smile. "Well, I am curious."

With a lazy sigh, the dark haired boy put his arms behind his head. "Some bourgeois bastard's house. He had plenty of books, so he surely wouldn't miss this one."

A small fraction of Jehan's mind realised that he should feel guilty for taking some poor man's work, but for the most part, he didn't care, so touched was he that Parnasse had thought of him during even a robbery. "Thank you," he murmured, still paging through the sketchbook in wonder.

"You don't mind it's origins?"

"Of course not! Why would I?"

Montparnasse frowned. The entire reason he had tried sneaking it onto Jehan's shelf was because he feared the other would be scandalised by the stolen treasure. "You're not... ashamed of me?"

Jehan looked up in some surprise. He stared at the beautiful boy, all alabaster skin and rich dark curls and perfect lips, and could muster up many feelings. Adoration. Awe. Idolisation. Even, to his surprise, love! But not shame. He leaned down and kissed Montparnasse tenderly. 

"Never ashamed, chaton," he whispered as he pulled away.

Montparnasse arched a perfect eyebrow. "You know I'm a criminal, right? I should have though..."

Jehan stopped his mouth with another kiss. "I don't care. I love you for you. Just for you. I don't care if you don't rally behind my causes or if you have a record. Hell, I don't care if you killed a man in front of me! I care about you and that's all."

Montparnasse was silent for a moment, his heart stopped in his chest. The poet had said "love." So soon? Could it be?

"You love me?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Jehan's face turned red, all the way to his ears. He wanted to bury his face once more into the pillow, pull the blankets over his head, and disappear into the soft sheets. Swallowing hard, he resisted the urge. "Yes," he replied a little breathlessly. "I love you."

Montparnasse felt his own cheeks grow hot and he knew that he too was blushing. He sat up, putting a hand on the back of Jehan's neck, and drew him in as if for a kiss, but their lips did not meet. Instead he stared into Jehan's eyes, searching their wide innocence, a vast sea of green and blue that showed every unspoken word of trust and admiration.

"I... I think I love you too," he finally said. 

Jehan's eyes grew even wider, as if surprised that anyone could ever love him, before he smiled warmly and kissed Montparnasse; not on the lips, but gently on the forehead.

"I'm ever so glad," he murmured as he wrapped Montparnasse in an embrace and buried his face in his dark curls.

Montparnasse held Jehan tightly, his head pressed against the slight man's chest and hearing the rapidness of his heart beat. It was the sweetest music in the world. 

Love... What a strange concept! Yet here it stood. The cat and the bird loved each other and all was well in the world.


End file.
